


the end from the beginning

by Bushwah



Series: we the clay [5]
Category: Fake AH Crew (Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Cults, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Awkward Boners, Begging, Betrayal, Consent Issues, Death Threats, Dirty Talk, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emoticons, Emotional Manipulation, Explosive Ordnance Disposal, F/M, Facials, Falling In Love, Gaslighting, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Negging, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Photography, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Organized Crime, Partner Betrayal, Porn Watching, Possessive Behavior, Predicament Bondage, Running Away, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-public masturbation, Sex Tapes, Sex Work, Sexting, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Harassment, Somnophilia, Texting, abusive isolation, betrayal kink, emoji, guilt tripping, revenge porn, showering together, transactional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bushwah/pseuds/Bushwah
Summary: Jack has taken Michael back to HQ after his failed escape attempt.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Jack Pattillo, Gavin Free/Michael Jones, Gavin Free/Michael Jones/Jack Pattillo, Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey, Michael Jones/Jack Pattillo, Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Series: we the clay [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643119
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	the end from the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is an FPF fic based exclusively on the Fake AH Crew lore as set forth by Rooster Teeth Productions. This work owes an additional debt of thanks to Wren wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com and their collab partner Threatie alastair-made-me-undo-it.tumblr.com, posting collaboratively as Wrespawn on the AO3, for their contributions to the FAHC fandom.
> 
> All major characters in this series are abusive, in that they use abuse tactics in conducting their relationships. However, the degree of trauma they inflict depends on a variety of factors, within and outside their control. Abusive acts committed from a position of extreme power, such as Jack's control over the respawn machine (regarding the crew) or the other Fakes' access to it (regarding outsiders), are both particularly damaging and particularly unjustifiable.
> 
> Emoji, Non-Consensual Photography, Revenge Porn: This fic consists exclusively of text, with no emoji or images. These themes are textually discussed.

After Michael's out, Jack texts Geoff.

“Just got back from an op with Mogar and Golden Boy. Tell GB he did good, and keep an eye on him. I've got Mogar in our room for debriefing; you'll have to make other arrangements.”

A few minutes later she gets a reply. “Sock on the door, got it.”

She touches the back of her hand to her forehead before tapping out a reply. “Sorry for the short notice. I didn't think this would be a complicated one.”

“Feel free to update me ;)”

“I'll consider it.”

She puts away the phone after that's sent. Fuck, Michael's _cuter_ when he's asleep. He's got his head on her leg, and she rests her hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid his neck. He shouldn't stay in that position all night, but she wants to wait a little longer to move him. With any luck he'll accept the move and fall right back to sleep.

She watches him sleep for a bit before nudging him. It doesn't wake him up, so she hefts him under the arms and carries him to the bed. He mumbles a complaint, _hey_ , but she just keeps going, sets him upright on the pillow and pulls away the blankets. He slides down obligingly and lets her tuck him in.

She enters the bed herself on the other side. “Good night, Michael.”

“Love you,” he says.

She doesn't, quite, freeze. That would be obvious, and she isn't obvious. But she does endeavor to disappear from his awareness—her breath gradually becoming more even, her body moving to settle in naturally, slowly but not tentatively, relaxed. And as she does, she thinks.

There's no way those words were meant for her. But there was still something to them. Some tension, or some fulfillment. Does she want him to love her?

Yes, she decides. It would be beautiful, to tame this wild boy until he was eating out of her hand. It would be beautiful to make him love her.

She'll have to look into that.

* * *

In the morning, Jack awakens to find Michael gone.

She texts Geoff, “Done with Michael. Where's Gavin?”

* * *

“You know, you were really invaluable in the op yesterday.”

Jack leans on the doorframe to Gavin's room. She has separately assured that Michael's elsewhere; he's glaring down the TV over the treadmill, so focused he didn't see her watching him from the door. She's glad he's found a healthier outlet for his frustrations.

“Don't mention it,” Gavin says.

Jack lets her gaze roam across him. Still an asshole.

“Like what you see?”

“Well enough,” she allows. “Don't suppose you'd consider making me a sex tape?” Gavin blinks, caught off guard. “Your usual rate,” she elaborates. “My husband will pay.”

“'Course I can,” he says. “Couple shot or solo?”

“Couple. You're not that pretty,” Jack says. It's not the waiting insult that Ryan would have made it, a ploy to convince him to demonstrate that he is. It's just a statement of fact. “I didn't let Michael know I had a camera on him for you,” she adds. “I'll expect you to extend me the same courtesy.”

Gavin licks his lips. “Won't be a problem,” he says.

Jack thinks she catches a hint of bluster. Good. “I'll leave you to your assignment,” she says, and leaves the room, closing the golden door behind her.

* * *

“Can anyone hear us?”

Michael's voice is hushed. Gavin looks up and invites him over with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Don't think so, boy! What didja wanna be talking about that's so” (he lowers his voice exaggeratedly) “hush-hush?”

“Yeah, but are you sure?”

“Gimme a minute, I will be.”

Gavin turns on his phone. Checks a couple cameras. Opens up the logger. Gets an email. Reads it (spam). Goes to his spam filter to add a setting. Works on trying to automate it. He should really have his keyboard for this, but it's not worth getting up for. He'll do it later.

He has the vague impression there's something he was working on. “What was I doing again?” he asks aloud.

“Can anyone fuckin' hear us.” Michael's got his surly voice on.

“Right.” Gavin goes back to the list of cameras and taps the two in their room (he should install more, if this is going to be professional) to turn them off. “No. No one can hear us.”

Micoo takes a deep breath. “You said you could get me out of here. That offer still valid?”

Gavin thinks about it for a bit. Eh, he's in. “I could,” he says. “You'd best make it worth my while, though. What're you looking for exactly?”

“It's not much, I just need to get out of Hotel Quebec for an hour or so.”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

He can see Michael trying to decide how much to tell him. “I left something in the city, could make a mess.”

“Messes are fun, though.”

“I gotta deal with it. I—it's one of my weird things. I'll make it up to you.”

Least he admits it. “You said an hour?”

“ _About_ an hour. Might take two.”

“Fine, fine. I'll do it. In return, I want... mm... a nice cup of tea.”

Michael's shoulders visibly relax. “Now, or?”

“Also a blowjob.”

Michael smiles. “I can do that.”

* * *

There's a real chance Gavin will change his fucking mind, but there's nothing Michael can do about that. In the meantime, he's got a dick to suck.

Gavin's gone back on his phone, but whatever it is isn't distracting him a bit. Maybe he's watching porn. No, he's tapping. Sexting someone, then.

None of Michael's business, and not like he can ask. He concentrates on what he's doing.

But then Gavin's pushing him away. Michael looks up, confused. Gavin smirks. “I'll take that cup of tea now.”

Michael sighs and licks his lips. “Sure,” he says. He thinks about the trap. It's the weekend, right? He can't remember, which is fucking embarrassing, but if it's the weekend, they won't be working. And if it's not, well, the best he can do is still to get Gavin off ASAP.

He brings the tea back to the golden room. Fortunately he's still wearing clothes, so that's not a problem. Gavin's sitting upright on the bed, still on his fucking phone.

Gavin gestures at his crotch. Michael's seriously tempted to pour the tea there.

Instead he sets it on the nightstand and takes a deep breath (maybe more of a sigh) before getting back to work.

* * *

The first text Jack gets from Gavin, she ignores.

She reads it, obviously—she was just working on him; she's not going to turn down free intel on his reactions—but she doesn't write back.

The text is “guess what micoos doing” and an emoji of a simple outline of a heart.

Her phone buzzes again a minute later with “sucking my dick” and an emoji of three drops of water. She ignores that one too.

The next one says “im gonna let him out” and has a winking face. Jack sighs. That one really does need an answer.

“yeah? how far out?”

“to the city” Gavin sends, with an emoji of a building, and follows it up with “he said 2 hours” and “he said not to tell” with another winky face.

“so you're betraying him while he's going down on you?”

There's a pause, then a long period of typing. Finally the message comes up. It's a long one. “bloody almost came early woman,” Jack reads. “had 2 take a brake. micoos coming back with” (an emoji of a steaming mug of tea) “gonna finish the job. he said he left a mess in the city. thought u might kno where. hes back”

The last thing in the message is an emoji of a camera flanked by two winky faces.

Jack looks at the message for a long time before tapping out her reply.

“seems there's hope for you yet, pretty boy”

* * *

Jack goes back to the building where she'd found Michael the first time. The “mess” has to be the tripwire that Michael had set at waist height in the third floor corridor, and the explosives in the wall.

Jack already disarmed them, but Michael, of course, doesn't know that.

When she's settled herself sitting against the wall between the harmless tripwire and the stairs, she takes out her phone again. Gavin's texted her.

“gotta keep lookn like im txtn so he doesnt get sus” and then a string of emoji: a firework, the Eiffel Tower, a green ball, some tiny icons of people. She isn't familiar with any of them. Given Gavin's proclivities, she's surprised the eggplant doesn't appear.

A message reading “hes lookn up @ the” ending with another camera emoji, and one that says “wish u were here” with a winky face. Next is a single question mark. Then, timestamped a few minutes later, “if u wanna b missn out im gonna find smth else 2 do”

Jack sighs. It's going to be a long wait.

* * *

Michael would sigh if he didn't have a dick in his mouth.

Gavin has progressed from sexting to watching porn. _Het_ porn.

“Can't fault her technique,” Gavin says, pretending to be completely fucking unaffected by what Michael's doing, “but it's a shame she had to shave her legs.”

Michael doesn't care.

“Hey, the lighting in here's better, though,” Gavin muses. “I knew there was a reason this place was so bright. Practically bloody floodlights Geoff has. You look real good.”

Gavin likes the sound of his own voice, more like. At least him being horny means it won't take as long. Michael thinks about the tripwire and sucks harder.

* * *

Jack is idly trying to hack her own security enough to give her remote access to the networked machine at Hotel Quebec when she gets the next message.

It is, of course, from Gavin. She closes her eyes for a moment, putting it off, then opens them. If she really didn't want to deal with him, she'd take him out of the machine and shoot him.

 _Eat your vegetables, Jack,_ she tells herself. _The ends justify the means._

The message consists of a caption—“hope u like it ;)”—and a video attachment. The thumbnail is a POV shot of Michael with a dick in his mouth. Jack taps play.

The video is shaky, taken with a handheld phone camera. The first bit is a blur, then the camera steadies and points at Michael. They're in the golden room. Michael is fully clothed, and looks resigned.

The view tilts again and goes dark. There's the sound of a zipper. Gavin chuckles, picks up his phone and points it at Michael again.

Michael's expression still indicates reluctance, but there's no hesitation in his actions. He sucks dick like a man with a mission. The camera wobbles around, Gavin texting, but her eyes are fixed on Michael's face.

She's startled when the video abruptly cants to one side, a blur, then she's staring at Gavin's erection, which is wet with Michael's spit.

Gavin draws a deep breath. “I'll take that cup of tea now.”

The camera tracks Michael's ass out of the room, then returns to its resting position pointed at Gavin's crotch. Jack gets up to stretch and is surprised to realize that she's hard.

She'd commissioned the sex tape to drive a wedge between Gavin and his poor luckless husband. She didn't expect it to actually be arousing. She pauses the video and checks the timestamp of when it was sent, considering.

Eh, fuck it. She can probably get off by the time he gets there, and if she can't, well, there are stranger things happening here than an inexplicable but unobtrusive erection.

She looks down at her phone again, where Michael's lips are once again stretched around Gavin's cock, and lets her other hand wander.

* * *

Jack is interrupted in her self-gratification by another text from Gavin.

She feels a little warmer toward him. He did her a very nice favor, after all. So she pauses the video and goes to respond.

The message is short and to the point: “ohw eta 15”

Well, that's plenty of time. She starts the video again—she'll even get to finish it; she wasn't expecting that—but her thoughts are elsewhere. She imagines Michael walking through the door and finding her like this; imagines him approaching her, unable to look away, and sitting next to her. His head leans on her shoulder.

They don't need words. He doesn't question why she's there, why she's doing what she is; she likewise doesn't question his presence.

Gavin starts yapping in the video, and Jack mutes it, irritated. Michael looks similarly irritated. They have this in common too, then: a certain disdain for immodesty.

Jack imagines Michael watches with fascination, caught up in her satisfaction as if it is his own, and she has to remind him with her other hand that he's allowed to do it too.

She imagines Michael reaches orgasm quickly after that, overwhelmed by her presence. Maybe he's wanted this for a long time; maybe he's only just now come to need her. Regardless, when he's done, he slumps against her. She puts her arm around him and pets his heaving chest. His eyes are half open. He's smiling.

Her off hand squeezes her thigh when she comes.

When she can see straight again, she retrieves her phone and checks on the video. Gavin's masturbating furiously. The frame is much shakier than it was before; half the time Michael's not even in it. From what she can see he has his mouth open and his eyes closed.

She skips around until she finds the money shot: Gavin coming all over Michael's face. She turns back on the audio in time to hear Gavin say “Ooh, that was a good one, boy! Now what did you want again?”

What a jerk. What a petty, self-centered _jerk_. Michael can do better.

* * *

Jack cleans up using the tissues in her purse. There's not much she can do about the smell, but Michael may have literally gotten Gavin's cum in his nose, and if he didn't he certainly did figuratively. She leans back comfortably against the wall, checks her gun in its holster, and waits.

Michael's expression when he sees her is everything she could have hoped for.

He wants to run. She watches him tense and realize he has nowhere to go.

“This isn't what it looks like,” he blurts. She raises an eyebrow, and he continues: “I was going to come back.”

“I thought you had, honey,” she says sadly.

She's sitting. He's standing. But he's _trapped_ here, in all the ways that matter.

“I thought you did.”

She treasures the shame creeping across his face, and the fight leaving his body. _Stand down, soldier._

“I guess I was wrong.”

* * *

Michael sees the gun swing up, and doesn't move.

Sometimes in combat it feels like everything around him is slowed down. This is the reverse: _he_ is the backdrop, and he has no chance to react to the events around him.

The fight is already over. She wants him to die, and he dies.

He awakens feeling oddly serene. For a moment, he forgets that there's anything happening. Then reality intrudes in the form of a jumbled mass of memories.

He remembers he was going to take down the trap.

He gets out of the pod and collects a com before even putting on clothing. His fingers shake as he turns the dial, listening for the particular click that means Jack.

“Wheels,” he says.

“Mogar,” she replies.

“Where are you?”

“With your body,” she says. “Preparing to extract.”

“I have relevant tactical information,” Michael says woodenly.

“Report.”

“There's a bomb nearby.” The door to the respawn room opens. Michael, in the middle of explaining, barely registers it. “Uh, there's a tripwire, it's in the hallway on the third floor where I was, it's not very visible but it shouldn't react to being just brushed against so if you're careful—”

Ryan tackles him.

Michael yelps and flails. He wasn't expecting to have to fight; he should've but he didn't. He braces his shoulder against the floor and tries to throw Ryan off.

He's startled by Jack's voice in his com.

“Vagabond, off. Mogar, he's not going to hurt you.”

Ryan rolls off of him with a skeptical look and leans against one of the pods. “Copy.”

Michael rubs his elbow where it had banged against the floor. “Uh.”

“Vagabond, you're authorized for necessary force only; I will know if you exceed your mandate. Mogar, continue your report.”

“Um,” Michael says. “What was I...”

“You were telling me there was a bomb.”

“Right, yeah, the tripwire.” Jack always makes him feel like this—like he's out of his depth. Wrong specialty. If she didn't want a bruiser she shoulda picked someone else. “Third floor hallway where I was. Might be easiest to find by touch but don't just walk into it 'cause it'll go off and maybe kill you—”

“Oh, that,” Jack says. ”I walked into it earlier. Didn't set anything off. It would've been visible, or audible, right?”

“That—” Michael doesn't know what to do with that information. “You'd... feel it?” he hazards.

“Well, I didn't,” Jack says patiently.

“But the trigger is there?” Michael asks. Suddenly he's not sure about anything.

“Yeah, there was something,” Jack says. It's more of a relief than it should be. “Fishing line? Strung across the hallway. Had to go under it; it was pretty solidly affixed.”

“Um, okay.” How had it not gone off? “Follow that back to... to the place it leads. Don't fuckin' pull on it.”

“I don't think you're in a position to be giving me orders, Michael.”

Michael's stomach drops. “I'm sorry,” he says. The words are bitter on his tongue. “Please... please forgive my insubordination. Ma'am.”

Michael holds his breath for a long second. He feels Ryan's eyes on him acutely. Then Jack speaks again, breaking the tension.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” she says lightly. “There's nothing there.”

* * *

“Is this the right floor?”

Jack savors the doubt in Michael's voice. He'd wanted to see for himself, so she'd brought the deactivated bomb and its paraphernalia home and picked up Michael on the same trip.

Jack lets Michael's corpse speak for itself.

“Is the tripwire here?” He squints despite his glasses and carefully feels for it. She doesn't tell him that the easiest way to find it is to lie down and see where the slight shadow of the underside of the fishing line contrasts against the ceiling.

She watches tolerantly as he traces it back, and finds what she left for him to find. He winds the line around his fingers and undoes it by pulling it sideways out of the glue it was embedded in.

When he's done, he looks at her with eyes full of confusion and it's all she can do not to close the distance between them there and then. _Not yet,_ she reminds herself. She has to offer, and have the offer accepted, even if it is a farce. Even if this body has _always_ belonged to her.

“What's going _on_ ,” he says. She spreads her arms, and he stumbles forward and lets himself be held.

* * *

Michael is at the end of his fucking rope.

He wishes he'd never left. He wishes he'd just stayed home. There might be a bomb somewhere in this building and he has no fucking idea where. Did he just _think_ about setting the trap? Did he—

“Michael?” Jack is saying. “Can you hear me?”

His ears are ringing like a bomb went off, and his throat is dusty-dry. “Copy.”

“Mogar, then,” she says in the same soothing voice. Her hand is on his shoulder, and she's looking directly into his eyes. “Let's go home.”

He nods. She lets go to pick up his corpse. What—he could escape, he could run. Why would she—

 _How's that gone for you?_ a voice in the back of his head says wearily. _Don't you want to go home?_

He doesn't retort. He's not sure it's wrong.

Jack carries the corpse back to the car, and he follows like a shell-shocked duckling. He gets in the backseat. Jack smiles. Jack stows the corpse. Jack drives home.

Michael doesn't go for the door when the car stops. Jack comes around and opens it for him. He still doesn't get up. He closes his eyes.

“What's going on, Michael?”

Maybe if he doesn't answer she'll go away.

“Don't you want to come inside?”

A tiny shake of the head.

“Okay,” she says, and his eyes open in surprise. She closes the door and comes around to the other side to sit next to him. “We can stay here for a while.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this.”

“Doing what?”

He makes a sharp gesture with his arm. “All of it. Taking me out. You know I could've run while your hands were full?”

“I trust you,” she says. And then Michael's laughing, laughing like he might never stop. She shouldn't. Nobody should ever trust him again.

* * *

“You know, it'd be more comfortable to sleep on a bed,” Jack says when Michael yawns for the fourth time.

Michael startles like he got caught at something and glares at her for a moment before returning to his expression of exhausted resignation. “I know,” he mutters.

“It's all right, though,” she says, falsely reassuring. “If you want to stay out here all night, we can.”

“What the fuck,” he says under his breath, and heaves himself upright. “Can we go inside now?”

“Of course.” Jack keeps a close but surreptitious eye on him as he ambles to the elevator. She follows and presses the button. He closes his eyes again, and leans against the wall.

“Just to let you know,” she says softly, “this is the plan. I'm going to take you to my room. Geoff will be in and out, but he won't touch you, okay?”

Michael nods, barely visible.

“Okay, and you can watch TV, but keep the volume down; I'm going to work. If you want something else, you ask. I'm just going to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't do anything you'll regret.”

The two of them get out, Michael blinking in the light.

“Oh, and I just remembered,” she adds. He tenses, and she smiles. “I'm going to need a shower. Do you want to come in with me, or should I get Ryan to—”

“I'll go in,” he interrupts.

“All right then.” She leads him to the master bath and takes off her clothing, placing it in the hamper. She turns on one of the showerheads, and looks over at Michael to see he's done the same.

“Oh, you don't have to come in like that,” she says. “Just stay where I can see you, that's enough.”

Michael shifts his weight from foot to foot, and Jack takes a guess. “Or if you want to, you can. Either way.”

He turns on the other showerhead and faces the wall. His ass is cuter in person. It's a good thing she already came today.

Sometimes everything works out for the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Isaiah 40:10.


End file.
